It is what it is

 I know someone who dislikes that statement..."It is what it is". To her it connotes giving up-accepting that the situation is hopeless. I see that statement differently.

I just lost my job- it is what it is. We didn't get the contract. It is what it is. Someone I trusted has betrayed me. It is what it is. My 16 year old dog passed. It is what it is. I failed a test, I missed the bus, my car broke down, its raining on the day I wanted to -, bad thing bad thing bad thing...it is what it is.

And what I mean by that is at this moment, in this second, in this specific point in time-this IS the situation. It is what it is. I cannot at this moment change what has happened. I cannot change that my job is gone, I cannot change that my feelings have been hurt. I cannot change that my dog is no longer here, or that the bus is a mile down the road, or that the sun did not come out today. I can do nothing in this second in time to turn around the event that just occurred. It is what it is.

And in using that statement, I give myself a moment to: take a deep breath, gather my thoughts, restrain my knee-jerk emotional response...I tell you, in that statement, that I cannot comment right this second. That I need a minute to consider this situation. That I am ok...just give me a bit of space to...

follow up with the unspoken statement that is this: Where do I go from here??? Better yet, "God, where will you lead me from here? God I am hurting. Father, I am afraid. God I am angry. And in all of this I don't want to sin...so God, what do I do???" (and I will admit that I sometimes sin in my anger and hurt anyway--- I am human--- I say ugly things and think ugly things - believe me- I am faaaaaaaaar from perfect- or even good)

So when I say, it is what it is, I am not accepting defeat. I am not saying that hurting me is fine, or missing class is great, or that the bill for a car repair is not freaking me out. I am not saying any of that. I am merely saying- it is what it is. Its not that bad. I have so much. I am so blessed. My Father shall supply all my needs...And now I will look to Him for guidance.

Today has been an "it is what it is" day. And I used the phrase...and it kept me from reacting too badly- and it gave me a minute to take the hurt and disappointment and frustration and put it where it belongs so that I can be led where I need to be.

So when those situations come my way- and I say the phrase, its not because its hopeless or I am defeated by life...I'm just sayin' it is what it is- and lets find a way (with His guidance) to move on.

There, I'm done. Eh, it is what it is.

(and no, the events above didn't necessarily happen to me - today at any rate-)

ruminating on the wheel while in the hallway at work...

Life is like a wheel. Sooner or later, it always come around to where you started again.

Stephen King 

 

How very apropos Stephen!

 

Today while working the sale table at the hospital (btw if you weren't there you missed out on some very fabu 25% off jewelry but that's neither her nor there) I found my mind wandering during the lulls. At one point, I heard a visitor request a wheelchair from one of the transportation employees for an elderly woman on a cane who very obviously needed some assistance. And I began to think...and this is usually where I get in trouble.

 

The wheel. It comes in many sizes (but not shapes...not really)...and is made of many different materials...but have you ever considered how much the wheel affects YOUR life from the very beginning to the very end? A circular tool  created around 3200 BC for conveyance plays a critical role to this day...lets take a look.

 

You are born. Congratulations!!! And quickly you are whisked into the nursery and placed in what? A bassinet with wheels!


 After a number of tests and a clean-up (for which your father is probably very grateful as the birth goose probably really grossed him out) , you are wheeled to your mothers room and any time you are transported in the hospital, it is on wheels in said bassinet. And when its time to leave, as per hospital rules, you are wheeled out in your mother's arms in a wheelchair, whereupon you are placed in a seat in a car on what?? 4 wheels. After you get home, your proud parents stroll around the neighborhood showing you off in your stroller which is on wheels. When you are a bit older, you are pulled around in your awesome red wood sided wagon.

 

 

And time passes. You grow and soon get your first self propelled conveyance- a big wheel, tricycle or bicycle with training wheels and FREEDOM!!! You now have the ability to tool as far around the neighborhood as your parents allow.


 Later comes a skateboard or rollerskates- but be careful- many a broken arm and pair of torn jeans are the results of the aforementioned! These wheels give you exercise, allow you to visit friends, and give you the chance to see how far you can get your bike to go off the huge dirt mounds created while your neighborhood is being constructed. The Doss brothers were definitely the best at this!!! But I digress. School bus- need I say more? Yes, wheels.



 

 

Time passes and you turn sixteen. And you get your license. And you drive a car- again, on wheels




. if you live  a big city you may use public transport which again has wheels...and if you travel, your plane will land on wheels. Wheels will take you wherever you want to go- They are your ticket to freedom- your chance to see the world- Wheels get you to visit your parents or children, to spend important events such as graduations. weddings, honeymoons, anniversary parties...And to make travel easier, you pull your suitcase which is on wheels.

 

Time passes and you are much older. Now you are on a walker with wheels, or using a scooter with wheels, or in a wheelchair.



And if you get sick, you may be on a stretcher with wheels, or even in a hospital bed- with wheels, arriving via ambulance- with wheels.


 

 

And your time walking this earth  comes to an end and you once again rely on wheels. Your casket rides on  a casket cart (yes, I looked this up) which is on wheels. (also see Casket Buddy). And it is transported to the cemetery in a hearse on wheels.


 

 

I'm not sure where this thought train (another vehicle with wheels) came from- I know it was the cane lady, but its bizarre to think of how much of one's life is affected by wheels. There is no profound meaning here- no point to be made...just ruminating while my mind runs in circles (which are shaped like...wheels)!

 

(not to be morbid, but..)

So...it seems that between Hospice and working with older volunteers, I have had the opportunity to attend many funerals over the past couple years...so I've had a lot of occasion to think about what I want mine to be...and lets face it, if it were left to my family I'd probably be chucked in the woods and then the fam would hit Outback...

At any rate, I feel if I post this here,  my wishes will have to be met- I have you all as witnesses...

1-I want to be cremated. If I show up in a casket, I ask one of you to please haul me to the crematorium in the back of a pick-up if need be...I do NOT want a casket (even if it is the old toe pincher kind), and I especially do NOT want one that is open. After all, there is no one who can make my hair as big as I can- and I don't want to be remembered with a bad 'do! Now, I know a lot of people think cremation is wrong and I've heard a few mention the rapture and the dead rising and you have to have a body to do that- however, people die in fires and I'm sure they'll make their way to their new bodies as assuredly as I will if I am cremated. Subject closed.

2- I do NOT want a funeral service. I want a time of celebration. I would like to have a few of my better pictures with some flowers in the front of the church- and I would like to have a choir- preferably a black choir (African American- politically correct) because they sure know how to raise the roof and let the Spirit in! I attended the funeral of a dear friend- an African American gentleman and let me tell you- I'm not sure the angels coulda sung it better!!! That said, sing songs of praise and homecoming because I am in a much better place praising Jesus- so be happy for me!!

3- I do NOT want someone who doesn't know me talking about my life. If my pastor cannot be filled in on what an amazing person I am (haha- kidding), then have someone who knew me well either write down and give to him what should be said- OR- that someone should say it themselves...or perhaps a few people...I abhor attending a service where the person officiating obviously doesn't know the deceased, or worse, mispronounces their name. Really?? Wow...and make sure the program has no typos...I'm really anal about that too! And don't make me out to be a saint- I know I'm not one- point out my flaws...its ok- really. We all have them. And sometimes they are what make us as real and amazing as we are.

4- I want the pastor to (not and long and drawn out) share the path to salvation. I am a Christian. I will not force my beliefs on anyone else. However, please respect me enough if you don't believe to at least listen for a few minutes to what is most important to me and consider... God loves you, Christ died for you...there is more to it than this world. I would love to think that someone was saved because I died.

5- I don't want my ashes scattered...I think it would be kinda fun to have them in a sparkly purple container- and perhaps they could travel around with whoever is left in my family--- they could be part of a centerpiece at thanksgiving, or even a stocking stuffer at Christmas. But really, I would be ok with having them buried. Just not scattered...that kinda freaks me out and there is always the chance that someone might inhale me. That's just gross.

6- And when its all said and done, love on my family. That's my biggest wish. Don't try to be "polite" and not disturb them in their time of deep mourning and grief (I am quite sure they will be inconsolable when my time here is done)...be there, tell them Kristen stories, laugh with them, cry with them- whatever ya'll want to do- but be there for them. Oh- and my family likes to eat- just not casseroles...fried chicken would suffice- a nice roast- perhaps a couple of pizzas- but not casseroles...and please use disposable containers. We, as a family, stink at returning things.

I think that's about it for now...of course, when the time comes, if anyone feels like they need to fall out in the aisle wailing and crying for the loss that is my earthly life- that's ok- it would definitely make me feel loved...and please feel free to wear a tiara in my honor!!!

God is good...His heaven is my goal...I can't wait to hear the angels sing...I think it will be a glorious place!

Oh, and give me a call now while I'm still here and lets do lunch---that's the best place for this journey to begin!!!

Don't know how to title this--- so I'm not gonna bother.

Ok- so I've tried to write this a thousand ways, (ok, actually only about 5 but thats not nearly as dramatic) and I just can't seem to say what I want to say in my usual manner... so here goes.

I am a Christian.
I am super close friends with someone who is gay.
I love my friend so very much.
When my friend hurts, I hurt.
When my friend is happy, it makes me happy.
When my friend is afraid I am supportive.
When my friend is angry, I listen and sometimes am angry too.
My friend makes me laugh.
Sometimes my friend cries and I hug my friend.
Sometimes my friend makes me so mad I could spit.
Sometimes I make my friend pretty darned mad too.
My friend and I know things about each other that not many, if any, other people know.
My friend's life is not always easy because of my friend's sexual persuasion.
People are not always nice because of this persuasion.
I know that some other Christians do not approve of my friendship with this friend.
I know that I do not care.
I know that I do not judge them for that.
I do not agree with everything regarding my gay friend.
I do not agree with everything regarding my straight friends.
In neither case do I judge them for who they are.
The bottom line is this- my friend is my friend.
I love my friend.
God loves my friend.
Thats all.

The Beauty of the Parchment Hand

I have seen many beautiful things in my 42 years of life. The awesome hues of a sunset (never a sunrise- too early), spring making its way by clothing trees and bushes with vibrant color, autumn dressing the trees in beautiful shades of yellows, reds and oranges. I have seen the beauty of my husband's smile as I walked down the aisle, the awesome gorgeousness of my newborn daughters, even covered in the schmutz of their birth, the love in my parents eyes. Newborn kittens in their fuzzy glory, beautiful flowers given with love, streams flowing over rocks on a clear sunny day.

However, today I saw a beauty that tops all of that- in the hand of an elderly gentleman- a parchment looking hand with long tapered fingers and perfectly oval nails. The skin was pulled and wrinkled, the fingers bony, the palm once strong now weak.

I know it doesn't sound very lovely. But I looked deeper and here is what I saw.

A chubby baby hand, with dimples in the fingers, grasping at air and waving tiny fingers with barely there nails. I saw the hand of a little boy, playing with blocks, trying to stack them with chubby fingers barely managing the intricate task. I saw the hands of a slightly older boy grasping the handles of a bicycle- squeezing tightly- trying to steer on only two wheels. I saw the hand of a teenage boy shyly reaching for the hand of a young girl thrilling with the soft warm contact.

I saw the hand of the young many reaching out with a ring to present to his future bride- trembling a bit but sure of itself. And I saw the hand of a young serviceman doing his job, fighting for his country. I saw the hand tenderly caressing the face of his young wife, touching her swollen belly in awe. I saw the large strong hands gently cradling his new born baby, softly exploring the tender skin, lightly rubbing the fuzz covered head.

I saw the hands of a career man working to provide for his family. I saw hands raising a drink in celebration of a promotion, shaking the hand of a co-worker in appreciation of a job well done, laboring over tedious paper work.

I saw the hands of a retired man, now getting tired but still doing what God intended for them to do.

And now I see the hands of an elderly gentleman, shaking a bit as he drinks from a cup, grasping a fork as he feeds himself, gripping the edge of a blanket in pain, lying sedately as he drifts into sleep. These hands have seen a life time of joy, of sorrow, of love, of pain. These aged hands tell stories, these aged hands are beautiful. And one day these aged hands will finally be still.

It amazes me to think that they were once chubby little baby hands and that they have lived such a full life. I am privilaged to be able to hold these hands, to gently stroke these hands, to lay a tiny kiss on these hands.

Beauty comes in all forms. Even in places we would never think to look.

The effects of old age restrictions on a 42 year old mind

My mother has recently, frequently told me not to get old- that its the pits. Now I don't think she is wishing me an early demise, but rather telling me that aging is not a fun or graceful process.

Today that reality was brought home to me in a forceful way. I was sitting with a friend on the porch of an assisted living facility, just chewing the fat and spending some time rocking. Out of nowhere, this seemingly content man started to share some angry thoughts with me. He told me he was tired of not having any freedom any more. He wished he could walk down the road to the bank, or the tobacco store. He was tired of everyone watching each step he took. He was tired of not being able to go home- where he would have some privacy to do whatever he wanted to do- where he could walk from room to room without the eyes of people following his movements. He wanted to be able to come and go and do what he wanted. He sheepishly grinned and said "What I want to do? I don't know. But I want to be able to do it".

We talked about it for a bit- I told him there was nothing I could do to help him- that I knew he was always an independent man and I knew it had to be hard to have people keep an eye on him all the time. I told him it was for his safety, and because people cared. But I knew that meant little to him. All he could see was the years previous, where he was a man with a life that was his own.

I told him I knew I would be in his shoes one day- and I was sorry his unhappiness. He asked me how I would be in his shoes, and  I told him that either through age or illness, my life would not always be my own. There will probably come a time when I am under the care of someone else who dictates my movements and there are no longer actions taken on a whim.

I left him shortly there after- not until we lightened the mood and he got a hug and a kiss goodbye and a promise for a visit Wednesday- I had a great deal of difficulty leaving him there- I wanted to pack him away in my car and bring him home with me- to take him out to eat and give him a chance to get out and about - away from all the "old people" and around the world.

And in the car on the way home my mind was racing- which is par for the course these days. I fast forwarded to what my life would be like down the road- then to what my parents lives would be like in the next couple decades- I would never divulge age but my mother is not the 39 she claims- just an fyi- she would have had to have given birth to me while she herself was still a fetus- or not even that! :) sorry ma!!! :)

Then I started with the really deep introspection- and I realized I have already put myself in that nursing home- that facility with restraints- that world that doesn't allow me any freedom like my old friend...Only I have done this to myself.  Gone are the days of flying by the seat of my pants- the days of doing on a whim- the days when I branch out and explore all the wonders of this amazing world God has created. I have entombed myself in a tiny tiny chamber I call my life...granted I can get in my car every day and go to work, or the store, or the mall, or see my family. I have a home filled with things I enjoy- pets that make me happy. I have two beautiful daughters and an amazing husband that I learn to appreciate more with every year that passes...but yet, I have allowed myself to succumb to a joyless existence that has robbed me of happiness and the freedom to enjoy life.

At 42, it is not too late to make changes. I realize I have the ability to get out of the trap I have allowed myself to think is my life- I don't have to stay mired in this place. I don't know how I allowed my mind to become so closed to life's possibilities- how I felt obliged to remain in certain circumstances and just suck it up and accept that this is how it has to be.

I have realized after talking to my friend, I don't want to be in his shoes now. I don't want to feel as though my life has been scripted for me- that I can only go from point a to point b and there is no sidetrack to q. Sometimes I think q could be a pretty amazingly fun place to be maybe.

So here I am, on the old blog again, sorting my thoughts, and making a promise- that I will make some changes. I will do it for my friend who cannot. Once again, I will find my way back to the relationship I want to have with my God- I will look for the beauty in every day- I will take a new route home from work, and then I will find a new place to work- I will quit getting bogged down in things I cannot  change, I will change my circumstances, not let them change me. And in time, I will be carefree and happy again- that is the promise I make. I cannot wait to see what the future holds.

what my hospice visit is like

Another gloomy Saturday and all I want to do is go back to bed after seeing Courtney off to carowinds at 7am. But duty calls.

I volunteered with Hospice last summer and have been working with the same patient for months. I adore her, but I'll be honest- when its gloomy outside and my hair refuses to do anything resembling normalcy, the last thing I feel like doing is getting dressed and heading out to the nursing home on my Saturday morning- when I could be going back to bed.

However, it is a commitment I have made and it is something I know I need to do. So instead of playing sick and hiding under the covers, I pull on my clothes, get in my car and head out.

Entering the nursing home is like entering another world. There are tables set up inside the entrance which seat four...some of them have one or two people at them. There are scattered patients in wheelchairs and a few on the couch watching the tv- though the birds they have are so loud its a wonder that they can hear the tv over the chirping and chatter. These people are beautiful people if you look closely- if you can see past the bent over bodies, the vacant eyes, the drooling lips, the damaged bodies. If you look them in the eye and say a cheery "good morning", life comes into those eyes and they very congenially wish you a good morning back...at least some of them do. Others I just pat a hand and wish them a good day and they stare in uncomprehension- but I can't help but feel that human touch connects with them somewhere.

After I make my way through the lobby and sign in, I head to my patient's room. She is usually lying on her bed, oxygen hooked up to her nose and ordinarily is dozing. Today I sat in "my" chair and watched her for a few minutes until she stirred. Her skin is so papery and has an almost waxy look, her body is thin and she looks rather weak...and it scares me a bit as I've never seen her look this "old" before...but she opens her eyes and greets me and my fears subside...she is still full of life.

She has a quick smile when she is amused...she answers questions as succintly as possible and sometimes conversation lulls, so we sit companionably until the next topic strikes one of us. It is not always comfortable...I'm not sure that anyone is completely comfortable with silence, but its ok...I am getting used to not feeling like every quiet moment must be filled.

We talk about families, her health, what she has been up to which is usually nothing, and I share about my kids activities and my life.

Today her roommate paid me a high compliment and it got us on the topic of Revelation- she said if you didn't know better you would think the author of Revelation must have been on lsd...that its a scary book and she is afraid of armageddon. Which led to conversation about salvation. It was interesting...I asked if she had asked Jesus into her life and she said yes she had...over and over again in case it didn't take. (which reminds me of when I was a child and thought the same thing). She quoted sins of the Bible such as sexual sin and dabauchery and some other big words... which led to discussion of how once Christ is in your heart, your sins- future, present and past- are all forgiven. She was quick to point out to me that she was not involved in sexual sin. I appreciated that divulgence.

After I gave her a pen as she had lost hers- you would have thought I gave her a gold bar or a sparkling diamond she was so happy to have that pen- I turned my attention back to my patient.

We sat for a while and chatted a bit and her eyes kept closing so I knew it was time to go. I took her hand in mine and prayed with her...it was a very precious and filling moment...it was a chance to commune with her and God at the same time and it is one of my favorite parts of the visit. Then I told her to take a nap before lunch and that I would be back next week.

I got up to leave and her roommate thanked me again for the pen- I think I will buy her a package of pens before I return next week- and I walked back out through the lobby. I passed the same lady I saw on the way in- a very lovely older lady with smooth cocoa skin and beautiful white hair and I chatted with her for a minute before I left.

On the way to my car I was so thankful I had put my selfish desire to stay at home aside and had gone on to what I knew would be a blessing. As I got in my car I found myself wishing I could turn around and go back, but I knew my patient needed her rest so I went on home...grateful for all that I have even though it is not much compared to what a lot of people have.

This has been on of  the best decisions I have ever made in my life. What a blessing she has been to my life...even when conversation lulls, even when I'm having a bad day and would rather be wallowing in my selfish misery, I cannot imagine a better way to spend my time.

I have heard several people say that they could never do it...that it would be too sad...that it would be too hard...that its a "wonderful thing" that I am doing. But I don't see it that way. Its not sad or hard, and as far as a wonderful thing- I don't view it as doing "a wonderful thing"- but merely spending time with someone who has lived a wonderfully full life, who is dying and who puts up with my inane conversation and who I have grown to love, and who deserves to have attention paid to her- to help give her life in her life. I almost feel selfish doing it as I end up feeling so full when I leave.

I know the day will come when my patient is no longer here- and I will miss her greatly, and her roommates and their quirkiness too! It will be a very hard moment for me, but I knew that was part of the hospice deal going in and so I am as prepared as I can be for that moment.

God is good. He has blessed me in so many ways in my life. And all the unimportant things fall away when I get the privilage of doing something so wonderful as volunteering for them. And I am grateful and thankful that I have the precious patient I have.

So thats my visit...it was only an hour today but thats ok...we will have next week to catch up on the nothing she did all week and the stuff that makes up my life. And I look forward to it.

Of course, next Saturday will probably be another morning when I wake up and think "I really don't want to go anywhere this morning" but I will, and I will be better for doing it.